it wasnt suppose to turn into another ramble..

so often time slips out of our hands , the passing of moments as we juggle whatever finds itself in the blip of our radars. we act smart, we make too much of little things, we let whatever black shadow lurking in the corners of our room take up too much space in the lives we try to live day by day. we make up stories, we search out people. we wait ... and we forget what we are waiting for.

i miss spending time reading and discovering i'm doing exactly what i want to be doing (for its usually when reading that i find myself feeling that way). i miss taking time out to do things .. , arranging schedules, feeling healthy, finding pleasure in the small things. and its not that i haven't been doing that - i have feigned the charmed life too long, i feel like maybe i've overindulged. the sickening feeling you get when you've had too much chocolate you thought you wanted. i've lost track of time, for maybe a while now. time's passing me.

i feel sometimes that i'm hopelessly lost. i see the signs, i recognize the roads ... i get the feeling that i know the right way to head ... yet i keep walking and i've seen these streets before. i've fallen into these potholes before, i've scraped my knees on these roads before. sometimes i feel like i'm making headway, sometimes i feel its all a lie and i am in fact stuck - like i'm in one of my dazy sleeps and i haven't woken up yet.
its probably a good thing though, that i am not allowed to get ahead of myself as i am wont to do. to remember that i am earthly..there is nothing i get to be proud about.

i think, i don't know, but i think maybe people carry around ugly things sometimes. i know i do... i am faced by these a lot these days. things i may not readily admit, things i do not even realize, things i have painted masks over according to the patterns readily supplied to us by society. i know that i have made some effort through my years to try my best to appear 'normal'.
i do not think i am alone.
but i do find these things in me - things ugly and grotesque, things i am, that i am afraid to face.
so i find i find it hard to talk about myself. i find it hard to write something without swaying into cryptic rambles, jumbles of words. those that are a little more obvious i do on rare whims and even then i find myself 'shy' when i re-read those (this will be one of them). anything that reveals myself too openly i feel is embarassing. so much is controlled, calculated and measured. everything is being written.
i don't know if there is a link between my finding it hard to talk about myself (and much in my world, often), with the me i'm afraid to look at. but i suspect there is.
i dont know if theres a link between that and wanting to look lovely and then thinking that this top/skirt/piece of accessory/hair would attract too much attention and reverting to the tried true and plain/not buying whatever it was because i'd never wear it and maybe this whole thing is irrelevent. but maybe there is.
i don't know what conspiracy theories propaganda i have cooked up upon myself.
at some point i lost my train of thought and i don't even know what i'm talking about anymore.

i think maybe it could be that the most liberating wounds are the battlewounds we get from battling with ourselves.